


Crossroad Blues - STALLED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

by Vague_Shadows



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon Deals, Multi, Stilinski Family Feels, Supernatural 'verse rules for demons, married sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vague_Shadows/pseuds/Vague_Shadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You could do it then? Bring her back? And then—ten years, right? Ten years with her before—”</p><p>“She’s been gone an awfully long time.  It’ll take some serious work to do what you want.  Five years.”</p><p>“The stories all say ten.”</p><p>“Eight,” she counters.  “Final offer. Take it or leave it.”</p><p>"Take it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Robert Johnson song and the Supernatural episode.
> 
> Just a little hook to gauge interest before I start in hard core on anything,

He compiles the components he needs in less time that he thought it’d take, cat’s bones, graveyard dirt, and all the other odds and ends the lore calls for.  When he pulls to a stop at the crossroads, dust settling slowly around him, he pulls the box out and drops his driver’s license in to complete the array.   He makes a hole in the earth and gravel of the moonlit intersection, he covers the box and looks up expectantly.  A woman in a skin-tight black dress smiles at him from just a few feet away.

            “Something I can help you with?”  she wonders as he rises.

            He can’t speak; he had the terms all spelled out in his head just a moment ago.  Now his mind can’t seem to conjure words.  He’s honestly not sure he expected this summoning stuff to work.

            “It won’t be easy,” she tells him, taking a step closer.  “Bringing her back.”

            “You can read minds?”

            “I can do a lot more than that.”

            “You could do it then? Bring her back? And then—ten years, right? Ten years with her before—”

            “She’s been gone an awfully long time.  It’ll take some serious work to do what you want.  Five years.”

            “The stories all say ten.”

            “Eight,” she counters.  “Final offer. Take it or leave it.”

            “Take it,” he says quickly, terrified of losing the glimmer of hope now he’s been teased with it.  “Eight years.  She’s back.  She doesn’t know how.  She’s fine, perfectly healthy, no more cancer.  She’ll live to a ripe old age.”

            “No cancer,” she agrees. “I can’t guarantee the rest.”

            “She’ll live at least those eight years?”

            “Stop pushing your luck, honey.  We both know you’d make this deal to get eight _minutes_.  I’m trying to be nice, but I’m losing my patience. Eight years for you. No cancer for her.  It’s a better deal than a lot of people ever get.”

            “Fine.”

            “It’s a deal,” she agrees.  “Just seal it with a kiss.”

            His lips meet hers in a kiss, and sixty-two miles away Claudia Stilinski wakes in her bed.


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the response to the prologue! :) hope y'all continue to enjoy it!

            Claudia’s not sure what woke her so suddenly.  Perhaps a bad dream she doesn’t remember.  She reaches automatically for John, but the space beside her on the bed is empty.  He’s at work or working out in the kitchen. 

            _Wait, is he? What day is it?_

She’s not sure.  The last thing she remembers is—the hospital? She was there, but barely, so weak and tired she could hardly keep her eyes open.  The treatments had left a weariness in her bones she couldn’t shake.  It had taken every ounce of energy she could muster just to tell Stiles goodbye.

            _No, no I couldn’t have told him goodbye.  I’m here.  I feel fine._

_That was the dream.  A nightmare.  That’s what woke me.  Everything’s fine.  It was all just a dream._

_How much was a dream? Was the cancer a dream? Am I healthy or sick? Why can’t I tell the difference between the nightmare and realitysounds ?  This is so bizarre._

She sits up, looking for her slippers, but they aren’t there.  She treads out into the living room.  The lights are all off so John must be at work.  She thinks for a moment of just lying back down, but with this unease settling around her she can’t help going upstairs to check on Stiles, just in case this is all some peculiar  manifestation of mother’s intuition.  She’s not too quiet on the stairs, knowing her son could sleep through a herd of elephants stampeding into his room.  She opens the door to peek in, and panics immediately, throwing it open.

            “Stiles?!”

            He’s not here.  His bed’s made and empty. 

            _What the hell?_

She flicks on the light to find a room that looks entirely different from the last time she saw it.  Half Stiles’ things are missing.   The things that are here seem mostly unfamiliar.

            _I’m still dreaming.  I must still be dreaming._

Dream or no, her son is missing, and she flies down the stairs still calling Stiles’ name.  She grabs the phone from the wall in the kitchen, only to find it’s not there.

            _Definitely a nightmare._

“Stiles?!” she calls for the millionth time as she continues to search for the phone.  “This isn’t funny, Stiles! Answer me!”

            She finds a cordless phone she doesn’t recognize and hesitates for just a moment, thinking of calling Melissa or Helen first to see if they have any idea where Stiles might be.  There’s so much else wrong though, so much she can’t explain and doesn’t have time to figure out, she wants John.  She dials 9-1-1 but a dispatcher whose voice she doesn’t recognize answers.

            “9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”

            “This is Claudia Stilinski my son is missing.  I need—”

            “I’m not sure what kind of prank—”

            “It’s not a prank! My son is missing, aren’t you listening?   I need you to put me through to my husband, Deputy John Stilinski.”

            “Sheriff Stilinski isn’t working tonight, ma’am, and even if he were—”

            “Not the sheriff.  He’s a _deputy_ for Beacon Hills.  John Stilinski.  If you’ll just please get him on the line for me.  Our son is missing.  He’s only eleven, and—”

            “Ma’am I need you to calm down.”

            “I need you to stop talking to me like I’m a crazy person! I want to speak with one of the other dispatchers.  Who else is on shift with you? Teresa? Candy? James? One of them must be.”

            “One moment, ma’am.”

            “This is Candy Creed,” the familiar voice says from the other end of the line.

            “Candy, thank God. Stiles isn’t in his bed.  Can you—”

            “Who the hell is this?”

            “It’s Claudia. Claudia Stilinski. John’s wife. I—”

            “I don’t know who you are, or who you think you’re fooling.  Claudia Stilinski has been dead for eight years, and this prank is not funny.  It’s cruel and childish.”

            The line goes dead and Claudia’s left staring dumbstruck at the phone. 

            _Claudia Stilinski has been dead for eight years_

_No, no that’s not possible._

She dials Melissa’s number, only to be informed it’s been disconnected.  She gets the same result when she tries to phone Helen.  Desperate to talk to someone _anyone_ who can explain what the hell is going on and help her find her son, she decides she’ll just have to drive to the station and find John herself. 

 

**********************************************

 

It’s nearly half an hour before John finally arrives.  Claudia’s at her wits end.  They left her here in the interrogation room after she had a complete meltdown at the sight of deputies she’s known for years aged beyond reason.  They say years have passed.  They say she died.  It’s impossible.  It’s all impossible.  She’s losing her mind or this nightmare won’t end or _some_ other explanation than she’s back from eight years dead and buried as though nothing happened.

“Claudia?” John asks, tearful eyes set in a face aged beyond his years searching her face for confirmation.  “Is it—is it really you?”

“Yes, honey, of course it’s—it’s me but I don’t—I don’t know what’s going on.  I can’t find Stiles and—”

“He’s okay.  He’s fine.  He’ll be here in just a little while,” John promises, coming into the room and shutting the door behind him. 

She all but collapses into his open arms, letting the tears she’s attempted to hold back finally fall.  He runs his fingers through her hair as he shushes her, promising everything will be all right.  When she finally gets a hold of herself, she pulls away, framing his timeworn face in her hands, resisting the urge to trace the wrinkles she doesn’t remember.

“What happened to me, John? What happened to you? To everyone?”

“You—” his voice chokes like his throat’s closing up, he clears it and continued.  “You died.  The cancer—it—you—”

“How am I here?”

“I don’t know,” he replies.  “I don’t care.  All that matters is that you—you are and I never thought I’d see—” She wipes at the tears coursing his face as he struggled to speak coherently. “—see you again, baby. You—I lost you. We lost you. I—”

The door to the room bursts open, startling them back.  John moves to stand in front of her, but the young man in the door doesn’t move forward.  He seems frozen where he stands, and Claudia realizes with a jolt that this is the face of her son.

“Mom?” he wonders, voice barely a whisper, and she can only nod as she takes in the sight of him. 

He closes the space between them in an instant, wrapping his arms tight around her with impressive strength.  She clings back to him a moment or two before pulling back to hold and examine his face the same way she took in his father’s. 

“Oh, my baby boy,” she says tearfully.  “You’re all grown up, aren’t you?”

“Still need a mom,” he assures.  “Nobody ever outgrows their mom.”

“No,” she agrees with a smile.  “Bet your Dad still hasn’t managed to make you eat your vegetables.”

“I make him now,” Stiles says.  “High cholesterol.  It’s doctor’s orders.”

“All that red meat,” she chastises.  “Told you it wasn’t good for you, John.”

Leave it to Stiles to get them back on track.  She never could find anything that could faze him for long.  He’s an unstoppable force, an energetic ball of life.  Trying to keep up with him had kept her fighting much longer than she would’ve otherwise.  It pains her to think all those memories of sadness and sickness weren’t just a dream. 

_Did you two really have to bury me? How did you manage? How am I back? What’s going on?_

“Come on,” John says.  “Let’s get home, and we’ll start sorting things out, okay?”

“Yeah, let’s get home,” she agrees. 

 

***********************************

 

            “Thanks, sweetie,” she says as Stiles hands her a cup of coffee and takes a seat across from her at the table.

            She still can’t believe this is her son.  He’s nineteen now, if their math was right on how long she’s been gone.  She’s missed so much: first day of high school, getting his driver’s license, first date, senior prom, his graduation.  She loves that his eyes are almost exactly the same, the same spark of mischief and vivacity she remembers.  Maybe the body has grown up, but his soul’s still the same.  That’s what’s important.

            “Mom, you okay?”

            “Yeah, I’m fine just—look at you,” she says, trying to hide the melancholy in the statement.  “You’re so grown up.”

            “That’s not what Dad says,” he replies with a smile, teasing to keep the conversation light; his hands come up as he sips at his coffee, and for the first time she registers the silver band on his finger.

            “Stiles, are you _married_?”

            He smiles as he looks down at the ring and huffs out a little laugh.

            “Yeah, and honestly I’m still as surprised as you.”

            “They eloped,” John says, rolling his eyes.

            “Hey, when you know, you know, right? You two have _zero_ room to talk.  Maybe you didn’t leave town, but a quick trip to the courthouse didn’t exactly give proper notice to—”

            “Yeah, yeah, I know,” John interrupts, and she gets the feeling the to of them have had this conversation more than once.

            “Well, I’m happy for you,” she says.  “If you eloped then maybe we could do a reception or something here? Get a cake and everything? It could be fun.”

            _It could be one memory I haven’t missed out on._

“Yeah, Mom; that’d be awesome.”

            “So when do I get to meet her?” she wonders.

            “Oh—I—uh—it’s—” Stiles stammers, and she’s unsure why he has to search for a way to answer the question until he finally finds the words, “It’s _him_ actually.  You’ll meet _him_ tomorrow I guess?  His—uh—his name’s Derek.”

            “Him?” she repeats, admittedly thrown. 

In her defense, the last time she knew Stiles his pre-teen romantic capacity was _entirely_ occupied by Lydia Martin.  Stiles is watching anxiously for her reaction though, so she’s sure to smile quickly even if she’s still absorbing the information.

“And I meet him tomorrow?” she goes on.  “That’s good.  You two live close?”

“Yeah, we’ve got an apartment in town, but we’re building a house out on route 94, near the preserve.”

“That’s great, so he’s from around here? Would I know him?”

It’s a fair chance.  She’s taught a lot of kids in this town.

“Um—Derek Hale,” John says.  “You may have taught—”

“Oh, the Hales.  Yes, I taught Laura, but I never had Derek.  Wonderful family though.  Talia and Drew—”

“They’re—they passed away,” John tells her. 

“What?”

“There was a fire,” he expounds, “a few months after you—after you left.” He must not be able to bring himself to say ‘died.’  “It’s just Derek and Cora now.”

“Oh, how tragic!  They were such nice people.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, and Stiles just nods, fiddling with the ring on his finger.

“So what else do I need to know?” she wonders.  “I feel like I’ve missed so much, but give me the highlights I need to know to—to not ask Stiles’ husband about his dead family and such.”

“Yeah, good idea,” John agrees, “Main events I guess.  Melissa finally kicked Doug out of the house.”

“Good for her.”

“Dad’s making me go to college instead of rookie school,” Stile chimes in.  “Even though I’m a _married_ adult who can make decisions for _myself_.”

“I told you, once you have a degree you can apply with the department.  Until then—”

“If I so much as _think_ about applying you’ll call every precinct in the state and tell them I’m the worst candidate in the world. I know,” Stiles grumbles.  “So I’m here at the community college getting a criminal justice degree so he’ll leave me alone,” he tells his mother.

Claudia can’t help smiling at their bickering.  They’ve stayed close, and she’s glad to see it.  She wishes Stiles had reached a little higher.  He’s so intelligent he could do anything he set his mind to, but she’s not so surprised he would want to follow in his father’s footsteps.  John’s much too intelligent for his low-paying job as well. 

“So you’re _Sheriff_ Stilinski now?”

“Yeah, six years this January.”

“Congratulations.  I’m sure you earned it.”

“He broke the department for most solved cases,” Stiles brags proudly.  “It was a landslide vote in his favor.   Everyone loves having him sheriff.  It’s awesome.”

“Stiles was third in his graduating class.”

They go on, listing big and small events in the town and one another’s lives until finally there’s a lengthy pause in the conversation. 

“That covers it I guess?” she wonders, but she can tell from the look they’re sharing it’s not. “What? Something else?”

“Well, um—it’s—it’s a little—complicated?” Stiles replies, “and kind of confusing and it’s going to sound fucking—I mean freaking—sound freaking crazy.”

“Oh?” she wonders, raising an eyebrow and waiting for him to continue.

“See—um—you know, you know werewolves? They’re—uh—real.”

“Werewolves are real,” she repeats, not understanding why the hell her son is saying the words. 

“And—uh—we know—we know some of them.”

_He’s being serious.  Holy hell he’s being serious? My son is seriously telling me about werewolves?_

“Werewolves are real and you know more than one of them.”

“Yeah, and you do too kind of.  One is Scott. He’s the Alpha—like it’s a pack thing, these werewolves, so you have to have a leader and it’s—”

“ _Scott McCall_ is a _werewolf_ who _leads_ a _pack_ of werewolves?”

“Yeah, he—uh—he got turned like three years ago.  He wasn’t the Alpha at first. This other Alpha who was like fucking crazy turned him and all kinds of crazy shit went down and then there was a new Alpha, which was Derek, but he’s not an Alpha anymore, and then a bunch of other people got turned and Jackson turned into a Kanima and—” He must take in the baffled look on her face because he stops.  “I’m not explaining this very well.”

“No,” she agrees.

“Okay, um—let me—I’ll try this again.  From the beginning,” he offers.  “You with me?”

“Werewolves in Beacon Hills led by Scott McCall—and the last memory _I_ have of Scott McCall is you two trying to convince me you had learned to play Bohemian Rhapsody accurately using just your arm pits—I can’t _wait_ to hear this story,” she replies.

Stiles starts with the beginning, how he snuck out one night while John was on shift and collected Scott to go in the woods to search for a body.  She’s suddenly almost glad she didn’t have to deal with adolescent-Stiles mischievousness.  As the story unfolds, she can’t help gawking at the countless times Stiles could have gotten himself killed trying to keep up with the supernatural insanity.  She bites her tongue at the urge to demand where the hell John was while their son was out chasing after mythical creatures that wanted to kill him, but soon enough she hears just what lengths Stiles went to in order to hide the truth and protect his father.  As the story goes on, moving from near-death battles every few weeks to a more languid, weird sense of normality, she sees the way Stiles smiles every time he says the word “pack,” and she knows that however crazy this all may be, it’s good for him at least on some level. 

“So that’s—that’s where things stand,” he says finally.  “The Stilinski family has officially gone supernatural, and—uh—yeah. So—um—I guess—any questions?”

_Oh about a million._

She heaves a large sigh, letting the anticipation of reaction build. It’s cruel perhaps, given the anxious looks on both their faces, but they should know better than to doubt her. 

“So you’re telling me I left you two to your own devices, and this family _literally_ went to the dogs?

There’s a moment or two of complete and utter silence until they both dissolve into uproarious laughter.  It’s in that moment, watching the relief and mirth on their face, and she knows they’re a complete family again. Whatever the hell is going on, they’ll figure it out.  They’ll be okay.  They’ve got each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, just a sidenote here; this is a fun, whim kind of fic for me. I'm not sure how in depth I'm going for any of this. I'm not going to overthink it like I obsess with some of my other stuff. I hope you like it and enjoy it anyway :) Apologies for the fact I'm not having anyone beta it.


	3. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh hey look another update...

            She wakes before John, slipping out of bed to the kitchen, pleased to find eggs and bacon—well, egg substitute and turkey bacon—in the fridge.  She hopes it means John’s been taking care of himself even without Stiles in the house.  She starts up breakfast, humming Beatles songs quietly as she works.  It’s an odd feeling, as though this is any other morning and the John and Stiles she used to know could walk in at any moment.  It seems like she hasn’t been gone at all, though he proof of her absence lies all around her in the small changes to the house she used to know so well.

            “Claudia?” John’s panicked voice calls from the bedroom.  “Claudia?!”

            “Out here, honey,” she replies, and from the sound of it he nearly rips their bedroom door off the hinges in his hurry to get to the kitchen.  “There’s coffee,” she tells him as though he’s not shaking off panic.  “You want to get out some bread for toast?”

            “Yeah, yeah, sure thing.” 

            “Sleep okay?” she wonders. 

            “Better than I slept in years,” he says, but the look in his eyes says _Better than I’ve slept since you died._  

She knows the feeling because she knows how much trouble she has sleeping when he works nights and how much more soundly she rests with him here.  She can’t imagine enduring eight years of that aching feeling that comes from an empty space in the bed.  She hates the idea of him alone in there, never spending more than a night or two apart from her since they were eighteen years old and then having that loneliness grow for _years._

“You look sad,” he says as he reaches for the cookie tray to set the bread on.  “What’s wrong?”

“Eight years is a long time,” she replies.  “I’m so sorry, John. I—”

“Shhhh,” he says, pulling her in close.  “Don’t, Claudia.  You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.  It isn’t like you chose to leave us.  You fought _so_ hard, baby.  You were so brave.  You stayed as long as you could; I know that.  Now you’re back, so it doesn’t matter.  We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Do we?” she wonders, pulling away to tend to the bacon again. 

“What?”

“We don’t know how I’m back or why or—or when I could disappear again.  I heard it in your voice when you woke up without me there.  You were afraid I was gone.”

“If I’ve learned one thing getting mixed up in all this supernatural stuff,” he replies, “it’s that everything unexplainable that happens is a Pandora’s box of craziness.  Sometimes you dig and come up with answers that help you; sometimes the more you know the worse it gets.  I have you back, and I’m treating it like the miracle it is.  I’m not pushing it; I’m not questioning it.  I’m just going to take every single minute I can have.”

“Seconded,” Stiles voice agrees as he walks in, hair touseled and eyes still a bit drowsy.

“So you’re telling me to two most curious men in the world aren’t going to try and answer some of these—”

“No,” John agrees, interrupting her attempt to push the issue.  “We’re not.  We’re going to—to call it a miracle.  We’re going to let the world wonder along with us and come up with whatever explanation for it they want.  We’re _not_ getting caught up in the rest.”

“I’m with Dad on this one,” Stiles says.  “At least for now? Please? Can we just—can we enjoy it a little while before we try to go over it with a fine tooth comb?”

Their eyes are so pleading, almost frightened with the prospect of investigating this, that she can’t help let it slide right now.

_They’ve been through enough.  A day or two won’t hurt and then I’ll take a look into things on my own if they don’t want to._

**************************************************************

 

            The doorbell rings as they finish up breakfast, and Stiles hurries to answer it.  She recognizes the sound of Melissa’s voice even before she comes into view.  She’s older, but honestly she looks good.  Tired, but not in the same way she did all those years ago when she was trying so desperately to make things work with her and Doug.  She smiles warmly, shaking her head as she comes forward for a hug.

            “Just when I think I’ve seen everything,” she says as she lets go, studying Claudia.  “You haven’t aged a day,” she says.  “Makes me sick.”

            “Oh, shut up.  You look gorgeous,” Claudia responds, looking past Melissa to the young man standing beside Stiles with a goofy grin on his face.  “This is Scott? Good grief you’ve grown up.”

            “Hey, Ms. Claudia,” he greets.  “Can I like hug you? Is that cool? I know the whole werewolf thing is—”

            “I still hugged you when you got sick at the sleepover and puked all over yourself and my kitchen,” she reminds.  “I’m not worried about a little lycanthropy.”

            He laughs at that, coming forward to hug her tightly.  She’d wondered what he’d be like now, after hearing all of Stiles’ stories about what they’ve endured.  His brown eyes still have the same warmth though, even if the innocence of childhood is long gone. 

            “So you’re not freaked?” he wonders.

            “Mostly curious,” she replies.

            “Wanna see?” he asks, like a small child who’s caught a bug they want to show off.

            “You can change all the time?”

            “Yeah, totally.  The full moon thing just like—I dunno, it matters but not as much as you’d think.”

            “Huh.  Got a lot to learn I guess.”

            “I’ll write you a Pack Mom for Dummies cheat sheet,” Melissa offers.  “You’ll be fine;.  It’s not so different from little league.”

            “Oh my God, Mom; my pack is _not_ a little league team,” Scott complains.

            “Let’s see it, Scott,” Stiles encourages.  “Drop those eyebrows, buddy.”

            “What?”  Claudia wonders, confused.

            “Just wait for it,” Stiles says.  “You’re gonna laugh your ass off, Mom.”

            “My beta form is not _funny_ , Stiles,” Scott pouts.

            “I’m sure it’s not, honey.  Let me see,” she requests, vowing silently not to laugh no matter how ridiculous Scott looks. 

            When his eyebrows do indeed disappear as extra hair sprouts around his face and his teeth elongate, she doesn’t laugh, but it’s a near thing. 

            _Oh wow.  What kind of wacked out fairytale life have I woken back up in?_

 

****************************************************

 

            Stiles is jittery with nerves when it nears lunch time.

            “I’m sure if you love him, I’ll love him, too,” she says with a smile. 

            “I know—I just—I dunno.”

            “Come on; it had to be way worse to introduce him to Dad.”

            “Hey,” John whines from the next room.  “I was nice.”

            “You pulled out your gun,” Stiles replies.

            “But I didn’t _fire_ it,” John points out, and Claudia can’t help laughing.

            “He really did,” Stiles tells her sulkily.  “He cocked it and everything.  Not that a regular bullet would actually kill Derek, but the intent was there.”

            “You were _seventeen._ ”

            “Yeah, and fully involved in all kinds of near-death shit all the time.  Wanting to date an older guy was totally not the worst thing that could’ve happened.”

            The doorbell rings, interrupting the conversation, and Stiles all but sprints for the door.  Claudia smiles after him.  He returns just moments later with a tall, dark, muscular man in tow.  Derek’s walking stiffly, clearly nervous, and his smile is a tad too forced. 

            “So Mom, this is Derek Stiles says.  “My—uh—my husband. Wow, yeah, still getting used to that one.”

            Saying the new title has Stiles grinning, and Claudia remembers all too well the early days of her own marriage, how wonderful and yet foreign the word “husband” had seemed on her tongue. 

            “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Stilinski,” Derek says, and even if the smile is nervous those teeth are dazzling.  There’s something in his smile that reminds her a bit of his sister. 

            “Claudia’s fine,” she says.  “Or Mom I guess—whatever you want really.”

            “Thanks,” Derek says.

            “It’s great to meet you too, Derek,” she says. 

            They move slowly from the awkward icebreaking conversation into more effortless interaction as the day goes on.  Some of the tension in Derek melts away; she notices the way Stiles is always reaching for him—a hand on his shoulder, threading their fingers together, leaning back into him as they stand in the kitchen while she makes dinner.  It’s as though he wants to keep Derek close always, and she smiles because John’s always been the same way with her, though the touches these past two days have been more gentle then ever, like he’s afraid she’s an apparition that could disappear at the slightest disturbance.  Her favorite thing about her new son-in-law though is without a doubt the way he looks at Stiles when Stiles isn’t looking at him.  He tracks his movements, lips twitching just slightly in a small smile when Stiles flails in protest as a player on the screen makes an error or when he starts off on a tangent with his father in the rambling way the two of them have.   Derek Hale is obviously a man enamored, and she wouldn’t have any less adoration from the partner her son plans to spend his life with. 

            Maybe she’s jumping the gun, but she can see them ten years down the road, in love as they ever were, just like Claudia and John.  It’s the real deal.  It makes her heart ache to think the little boy obsessed with his childish infatuation for Lydia has grown into the man who can make a well-founded, lifelong commitment and she missed that growth.

            _But I’m here now._

_We’ll have a reception for them here in the back yard._

_I’ll throw them a house-warming party once the new place is done._

_I’ll watch him graduate college._

_Maybe I’ll even watch him learn to be a father._

She smiles at the thought.  The time spent with her family will soon outweigh the years she missed.  She’s been gone eight years, but that’s okay; there’s so many more yet to come.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: the speed of updates is almost always directly proportional to how stressed I am; it's LSAT week; you do the math
> 
> buuuuuuut all bets are off once the *real* panic sets in and I retreat to my woman cave with only my practice tests and don't emerge until God knows when

**Author's Note:**

> thanks/blame to frakkingawkward over on tumblr for getting the idea in my head of Mama Stilinski coming back.
> 
> I'm supposed to be studying for the LSAT dang it :P


End file.
